Stalkers
by PetPetAngel
Summary: Violet eyes watch as the lone boy, in rain, shine or sleet, talks to him through his metal gates. [Not really slash, but it COULD be... ]


X

PetPetAngel: Just a little something I wrote for Leslie's medication. -.-;;; But I enjoyed it!

Trespasser: ...You always do.

PetPetAngel: So?

Trespasser: You suck.

PetPetAngel: (smiles)

X

Stalkers

Written by:

PetPetAngel

Fic Type: One-Shot

Pairing: None, really, but if you're like me, Wonka x Charlie.

Warnings: None, really, but it COULD BE slash. 

X

Disclaimer: Nope, not me. ;-;

X

Violet eyes stare curiously out of the barred windom, orbs falling gently on a lone figure in the brutal winter backdrop. A lone boy stands with wide, curious, blue eyes, a mixture of wonder and hope swirling in their depths. Wonka can't help but think that boy must be freezing, with wearing so little to protect himself against the harsh winds that threaten him illness. It seems so awkward.

But the boy never seems to notice the minimal to serious threat of weather he taunts by merely standing there, the trouble he's asking for. Wonka first noticed him a few months ago. He came everyday, just standing behind those gates, even when it rains - pours. Wonka can't understand why anyone would just stand there, staring into each window in turn, then to the doors with such curiousity.

The boy talks, too. Wonka doesn't understand why the boy talks to his gates, perhaps a hope that someone, perhaps himself would hear? But that made no sense, the boy seemed undeniably innocent, kindness radiating off his form, without a seeming need for what everyone else craves. He knows all about that boy, his family, his grandparents, four, he believes if right, his... guardians, everything.

The boy tells him everything and anything, and he can't help but wonder where his friends are. It didn't make sense that he didn't have any, that Wonka knew. The boy seemed to contradict that logic though, because when he spoke, nothing of friendly fellow classmates ever came up. Wonka felt terrible that such a sweet boy would have to suffer a bully. The boy had even shown him some of his bruises.

Wonka was afraid to admit that maybe the boy had become an obsession of his. Whether unhealthy or not, he wasn't sure. Or perhaps the boy had had an obsession with him, but even that would not explain why his heart beat louder when the boy came late - though he always apologized, as if he knew Wonka was there - Wonka had to admit, he had somehow grown attached to the stranger. It was so confusing.

One day, Wonka had felt that something was going to happen, something big. All day it taunted his mind - whatever it was, it wasn't productive to a creative atmosphere. But as the day on, begrudgingly, Wonka let himself calm slightly, and as he went to the Room of Jams to look out that window that was his key to the outside world, Wonka's heart dropped at the sight he saw.

Wonka shut his eyes.

The boy's form was stiff and unmoving, Wonka prayed what he what thought to be blood was not, but hopes were shredded quickly. Wonka realized that he had arrived late today, and he regretted it. Darkness was settling. Taking the glass elevator to the entrance to his factory, he paused before leaving. It would be his first time truly out of the factory in years, was he willing to do it for a mere boy?

Wonka's hand turned the knob slowly, a gush of cold wind forcing him back, daring him to go further. Despite the cold (and the curiousity of how the boy took it so well), he stepped hesitantly into the blackness of night, shivering. Now he remembered why he had stayed inside for so long, it was such a cruel world. The truth in that statement doubled as his eyes settled on the boy. He winced.

Wonka barely manages to open his own gates without his hands shaking, as he kneels before the deathly silent boy. Wonka tries desperately to stop his hands from shaking as he curls his arms around the boy's slim sides. He's so thin, he thinks offhandedly. Holding the boy close, even through his own clothing feeling the freezing temperature of the boy. He closes the gate firmly, locking them.

The boy flinches from Wonka's touch, murmuring. Wonka distinctly hears the boy plead the air to stop, and he figures it had to do with the attack he was victim to. Wonka's grip involuntarily tightens around the injured boy, how could anyone hurt him to terribly? Wonka trembles slightly, seeing so much of his own pain mirrored into the boy's face, and he prays he'd never have to ever again.

It seems to take too long to reach the doors, and he pushes one open with his back, unwilling to taunt the chance drop or further injure the boy. Stepping surprisingly quickly for the combination of age and additional weight, in slight panic he presses the button to head to his private corridors. Yelling in his mind for the elevator to go faster, he can't help but notice the Oompa Loompas bewildered looks.

As he finally reached his destination, he forcefully pushed his door open, laying boy on his bed. He momentarily debated whether or not to remove the boy's clothing, but he realized numbly that he'd have too. With shaking hands, Wonka feels guilt strike him as he first removes the boy's shirt, spotting the bruises and cuts that smear into the pale skin. He hesitates to go any further.

Shaking hands remove the boy's stained and torn pants, and Wonka tries not to stare. Instead he focuses on the bruises that seem far to obvious for his own liking. He winces, calling with a hoarse voice for an Oompa Loompa, requesting a pear shaped First Aid Kit. Annoyance flitters through his eyes as the Oompa Loompa stares at the boy, and he growls out a harsh word that he himself could not comprehend.

The Oompa Loompa scurries off, returning just moments later with the requested first-aid kit. Wonka thanks him with a nod. He tries to focus on what he's doing, but Wonka's mind races miles faster than he should've let it, but he eventually gets it done. The occasional flinch or mumble (oh gosh he hated mumblers) the boy made no sounds or movements. Once he's done, he can't help but watch the boy

Wonka feels partially responsible for the boy's current pain, but the thought flitters away quickly when the boy stirs and turns to face Wonka. Wonka can't help but notice how peaceful the boy looks when he's asleep, even in spite of the cuts he bares. But the boy's eyes open, and Wonka feels fear like no other he's ever felt for the first time in the years he couldn't remember: the fear of rejection. ...Those eyes...

The boy does nothing but stare back at Wonka, a stare that Wonka would normally find unnerving, but somehow, when it was from this boy, it didn't unnerve him, it... It was excruciatingly piercing to his very soul with a hint of pleasuringly painful understanding that Wonka could have never dreamed he would find in a boy so young. Slowly, he breaks out into a small smile, "Hi," he murmurs.

The boy seems too bewildered to speak, his mouth slightly parted. It comes out breathy when questions, "Willy Wonka?" Wonka does nothing but smile. Normally, he knew, that sort of ignorance would agitate him to no end, but Wonka himself acknowledges that he finds it difficult to be mad at the boy.

"Rest." The boy nods, and the eyes Wonka loves so much, drift slowly shut.

A few hours later, Wonka feels guilty as he shakes the boy's shoulder gently. He sighs when the boy does nothing but nudge into his hand gently, and shakes the boy a little more roughly than he would've liked to. The reason why is obvious when the boy whimpers, his eyes opening and blinking rapidly shortly after. "You have to go home, now." Those words make Wonka hurt, they make his heart hurt.

Charlie's eyes remain lidded, and Wonka smiles. "They need you out there." Those words hurt too, Wonka admonishes. Charlie nods begrudgingly (or perhaps it was merely his imagination...) and Wonka helps him sit up. "Can you walk?" The boy nods and stands up, successfully walking in a pacing motion, smiling at Wonka. Wonka smiles back, and the boy gestures for Wonka to come closer.

Hesitantly, Wonka does so. He doesn't miss the boy's smile widen slightly, and his eyes narrow almost unnoticibly. Wonka was sure his heart stopped when the boy wrapped his arms around his waist, and Wonka reflexitively kneels to meet the boy. Wonka surprises himself when his arms wrap around the boy's own waist, and he wishes dully that he would never have to let go. He knows it will not be true.

He walks the boy to the glass elevator, and they walk in. The boy is confused, Wonka can tell, but he does nothing but murmur, "Hold on," he covers the boy's eyes with his gloved hands. Wonka is surprised how relaxed the boy seems, and they zoom off with him letting out nothing more than a squeak. As they reach the door, the boy hesitates again. Wonka can't help what happens next:

"Who are you?" He asks.

The boy leans up to him as if to tell a secret, and whispers into his ear, "I'm Charlie Bucket." Wonka nods with this information. "It's a shame that all the best minds are held in captivity," Wonka winces, "And I'm sorry whatever shut you in here is keeping you here." The sincerety surprises Wonka, but by now it shouldn't have. Wonka nods again, a bit more stiffly, and Charlie notices. "Sorry."

Wonka feels bad that Charlie's apologizing, especially when it's not his fault, and he smiles comfortingly, even though he hurts inside. They walk out into the cold, and Charlie gives Wonka one last quick hug. He drags his feet as he walks away, never to notice the solitary tear that streams slowly down Wonka's cheek.

A few months later, Wonka's eyes fall lightly on the fifth Golden Ticket holder. Charlie... "And you. You're just lucky to be here, aren't you?" He grins as best as he can, never forgetting the hurt he saw in Charlie's eyes. Just as he turns, he smiles truly, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Charlie smile too.

X

PetPetAngel: It's a lot longer than I intended... o.o;;;

Trespasser: So?

PetPetAngel: You're right! Please review!

Ja Ne!


End file.
